A Katana and a Cardigan
by fieldandfountain
Summary: Marian has a twin, and an eeevil one! Marigold, abandoned by Sir Edward in Scotland at her birth, for being well, evil from birth, returns from her scandalous convent life to wreak havoc on an unsuspecting Nottingham. She is delighted to find that her father is the Sheriff- but which Sheriff is he? A parody of Robin Hood BBC and fanfic in general.
1. Chapter 1

**Introducing Marigold, her Origins and Upbringing**

Everyone knows about Marian, who was the very nice daughter of Sir Edward, but nobody knows that she had an identical twin sister who was just like her in every way but not nice in all. In fact, she was rather evil.

How did such a monstrosity occur? I will not explain it by going back to another monstrosity, the origin story of the animosity between Guy and Robin, because that is an abomination and should not exist. Let's just say that Edward and his lady wife were on a romantic trip to Scotland when the twins were born, and realizing very soon that their second daughter, was a regular bad one, they stuck her with the unoriginal name of Mary (Literally stuck, as they pinned it on her) and left her at a convent door, hoping to never hear from her again.

Mary didn't remain Mary for long. As a very young child, she had heard that there was a flower growing in the convent garden called a marigold, and though she didn't go look at it and she didn't care to, she really, truly loved gold, so she insisted on this name for herself, would answer to no other and was henceforth Marigold. The nuns whispered that it wasn't a real, Christian name, but she was hardly a Christian child, wild and dirty, and even prone to hissing as she was, so they let it stand.

While medieval nuns were known for their learning, they were somewhat ignorant of practical life, so Mary, who scrambled on the rooftops spying on people, much like a beloved outlaw, grew far more educated than them in certain areas and could easily outwit them.

As she grew slightly older she learned to alter her techniques. She let go of her early ferocity and even lost interest in biting the elders and blowing out the sacramental candles. She learned to brush her hair, hold a prayer book, and take advantage of her large blue eyes to warm the hearts of the women around her. While she still practiced her flips and beating up the smaller children on occasional outside journeys, and even wielding a katana, she was to the convent, for a few years at least, a child who had been cleansed of a devil, and was now the image of divine grace. Inside she very much kept the need to acquire, plot and gain.

Among the sterner sort she had stealthier techniques- the Abbess, Mary Agnes, most certainly had strong feelings for a certain priest, and he seemed to reciprocate them. So she crept over Mary Agnes's cell one night to see them rolled up together, and when they saw the long, wavy brown hair falling out the top the top of the window, and the blue eyes peeping, they fell into a mutual scream.

In short time, somewhat after as the two had been assured that it was not indeed a demon, but a seven year old girl, Marigold was relieved of the majority of her chores and was allowed to dress in finery unheard of for a novice, including a certain knit jacket called a cardigan, which the others found very bizarre and out of place. There was some bitterness between Mary Agnes and her young charge, but as the young girl grew, the Abbess, who also had evil instincts, found in her a kindred spirit and they played all sorts of delightful pranks on the nuns and novices alike. Marigold was no longer a little angel in their eyes, but it hardly mattered at she held a seat of power within the convent that she wielded with the utmost ruthlessness.

As Marigold grew into a lovely teenager, she did not take holy orders. The Abbess found other uses for her, or rather Marigold found them for herself, as they were, she often reminded the Abbess, _her_ ideas. She would lure visiting Bishops into precarious positions, and the Abbess would happen upon them and begin to wail. She had a very guttural and loud wail or which she was very proud. The Bishop would beg for her to quiet herself, after which she would cry all the louder. Marigold would whisper that the sacristy was in need of new vestments, that the chapel was very poorly adorned and some new carvings would do very nicely, or perhaps some frankincense or myrrh would really be in order. It didn't really matter what she asked for because it came down to one thing: gold coins, which the Bishop was always delighted to donate a the holy convent which he held in such esteem.

In such a way Mary Agnes and Marigold had acquired quite a hoard, and the Abbess almost trusted her to look after it. Marigold spent many a happy hour rummaging through and counting the gold pieces under Mary Agnes's watchful eye. The older lady was discreet enough to ignore her cackling.

Around her twentieth year Marigold began to hear whispers of her own parentage. That she was not a spawn of the devil, as she had often been called by various nuns, though she would not have minded as the devil was said to be quite wealthy. But she was something better- the daughter of the _Sheriff of Nottingham_. Though she enjoyed tormenting the nuns of the convent, there were only so many Bishops to suck dry, and she wished for a new challenge. Nottingham, she had often heard, was a big town with lots of fat wealthy people walking around, which meant more gold than she could imagine, and it would be something to have so much power over all the people. True, it was her father who wielded the power, but she could see to that. She wasn't oversensitive and didn't worry why her father abandoned her, but she was pretty sure it was his job to take her back, and if he didn't, there would be hell to pay.

So sometime into the second season, I mean, on her 22st birthday, she had cake and ate it too so to speak. That is, she had cake, packed up a good portion of it, along with the entirety of the gold she had stocked up with Abbess, scrambled along the convent roof to the walls. She had sent a letter ahead to the Sheriff of Nottingham, claiming that his dear daughter that he was so cruelly separated from, lived still, and was eager to see him. Naturally, as in all stories like this, it never reached him.

Marigold was quite agile, and she thought as she slipped down a rope off the convent wall that surely there was no girl in Nottinghamshire as agile and capable of anachronistic martial arts as she was, and no girl in Nottinghamshire as pretty as she was.

Naturally, we know she was wrong.

* * *

 **In Which Marigold Finally Arrives on Set and I Abuse My Thesaurus**

It was a bright and sunny morning when Marigold rode into Nottingham on a fine bay she had 'borrowed'. She had borrowed things from her early years, and so when she heard that there were professional borrowers, also known as thieves, on the road, she was not worried. But when she learned they borrowed ten percent of a traveler's goods, she determined to defend herself with her taekwondo skills if necessary.

She four outlaws stumbled over the hill as she walked by, and she shot them a brilliant smile. To her surprise, one of them lumbered over, an even bigger grin on his face. He reached his hands toward her waist to help her off her mount, but she shook her head.

"For shame, vagrant!" She said, and though her words were harsh, her tone was sweet. The scruffy ruffian blushed.

"You won't stop for a while? Damned Sheriff." The unkempt outlaw shook his tawny head. She wondered whether to be offended on behalf of her father, but she could get her revenge later. Maybe they had a secret lair, with riches. And the unwashed thief was rather attractive, in a squirrely way, with a tie around his neck, and a sparse beard.

"A kiss then?" Asked the grungy bandit, his lip curling into a smile.

Marigold shrugged. This was much easier than giving him money, and far easier than taekwondo, which had required years of secret practice in the vestry along with Jujitsu and a dash of Parkour. She shrugged and leaned down to kiss him, and it was pretty fun too, kissing this smelly pillager. She held one hand on the saddle, and sunk deeper into the kiss, caressing his tongue with hers, in the usual way, until the begrimed raider jumped back, almost frightened.

His cheeks were bright red under their tan, and the others stood with their mouths open.

"Where did you learn to do that!" cried the disheveled plunderer in alarm. Marigold rolled her eyes. What kind of country was this? Were the thieves in Nottingham chaster than the priests in Scotland? She was half tempted to hop down and give him a lesson, if only to improve the experience of the other hapless young ladies he met on the road.

He glowered. "It was Guy, wasn't it?" The other outlaws groaned, as though they had been through this before.

"Oh, a guy? Yes, who else?" She said, flipping her head. She then smiled at the pretty Saracen girl, dressed as delightfully anachronistically as she was. "Or perhaps it was a girl." She blew her a kiss as she rode away.

"MARIAN!" screamed the grubby pilferer. It had begun to rain, and she put hood over her head, but couldn't resist peeking behind her. The dirty highwayman was on his knees, and looked dramatic indeed, screaming some name and raising his fists to the sky. The other outlaws just looked embarrassed.

She shrugged and continued on her way. He was clearly confused, which was flattering. She _was_ very good at kissing.

* * *

 **In Which a Beautiful Friendship is Formed**

Now her horse was stabled at a nearby inn, and she marched up the steps of the castle. Marigold had not trusted _anyone_ with her treasure, and so she was forced to wear a bustle. The bag of gold bounced against her backside when she walked, and she had to take tiny, mincing steps to prevent it from jingling. She also had her Katana somewhere back there, ready to slice these guards if they crossed her.

But they simply murmured, "Milady," and let her through. She inched into the courtyard, making a tiny sound like a single bell with each step, but in spite of her annoyance, she was satisfied at her new home. Of course, it could do with some more decorations. She would see to the interior, but first she had to meet her dad.

"Excuse me, I need to speak to the Sheriff," she said to the nearest guard. He looked at her dubiously. "Please?" she added sweetly. He sighed.

"Come along, milady."

They went up some stairs- _dusty_!-and through a hall- _spiderwebs_!-and around a corner _\- too damp!_ \- until they reached two thick wooden doors. She was becoming less sure of her new home by the moment.

The guard opened the door and slipped her through before running away. Marigold snorted. He was a rude fellow, and she would see that her father punished him.

She stood in a chamber, far more attractive than any she had seen in this building, with carpeting and some lovely birdcages, and felt at ease. She could suggest a few changes, but this was her dad's chamber. She was far more concerned with her _own_ rooms.

A man sat before her in steady conference with another. Both had their heads lowered and were whispering.

"Sheriff!" she shouted, to make sure she had the right man.

A balding man with a white goatee lifted his head. He was dressed in fine black velvet. He grinned, and a single tooth sparkled. A shiver went down her spine. She had never seen anything so gloriously decadent. And this, her own father!

"I wish to-"

"Eh, eh, eh! Business first. You- wait there." He pointed a gloved finger at her, and she frowned. She had hoped he would be more enthusiastic, but she was too breathless with excitement to meet this interesting man to complain.

He whispered for a short while with the man before him, a very slim man with an upright bearing, dressed in fine satin robes. Then, lifting from his chair, the Sheriff grinned. "Let's inspect the goods, shall we?"

The slim man nodded and the door opened. Four burly guards carried in two giant chests. The Sheriff strutted oover, kicked them open, and ran his fingers through the fortune inside.

"Looks like we've made a bargain." The slim man smiled.

"But what's this?" said the Sheriff, digging his hand deep into the bottom recesses of the chest and pulling out a coin and chomping at it. He put his hand on his chest in mock alarm. "Copper? Are you trying to cheat me, Baron?"

The man protested in vain, but the Sheriff tutted, and the Baron was dragged away by the guards. Marigold clapped at the fine performance. "How splendid," she cried.

The Sheriff tilted his eyebrow at her. He sat down and settled into his chair, picked up his pen, and dipped it in ink.

Marigold cleared her throat.

"Are you still there, then?" he said, irritated. "What is it?"

Marigold was now furious, but it was still very important to her to make a good impression. "I thought you would be happy to see me!"

The Sheriff tilted his head in amused bafflement. "And why is that? Have you got something for me? Hood's head perhaps?" And he smiled, his tooth glittering.

"No…," she said. "I'm afraid I didn't bring a gift." She thought of the bag of gold at her rump, but it hadn't come to straights so dire yet.

"Buuut-" she smiled sweetly. "I'm sure you've heard of my arrival."

"If only my guards were so astute."

"And I would really like to spend time with you."

He laughed and shook his head. "Try your leper's tricks on Gisborne. You'll have better luck."

She frowned, and slipped into the chair opposite him. Marigold grit her teeth as she felt her gold crunch under her, and readjusted herself. She placed her hand on his, and he was too surprised to move it. "I'm not angry at you, you know. For not being there for me when I grew up."

"Well, I should hope not!"

"But I think we should make up for it. Get to know one another. I can help you." She giggled. "I saw what you did with that man, there. A very good trick!"

He shrugged. "I make do where I can."

"I have many good ideas- for getting gold. I have never loved anything so much!"

The Sheriff's nose scrunched up, and she giggled again. "I think many people love gold for many reasons, but I love it for itself." She hugged herself. "So shiny, and pretty, and it makes me feel, well, be- rich!"

She sighed sadly. "The truth is, I've been surrounded by weak people my entire life. Maybe powerful in title, but not clever enough to get me what I want." She held back tears.

"You mean-the crusty one?"

She scrunched her brows. She forgot whether she had mentioned the Abbess in her letter, but crusty was an appropriate appellation. "Yes, that went well for a while. But it's like an old horse- when it won't work for you anymore, you need to put it out of its misery."

The Sheriff nodded, and mused. "Very true."

"I have many talents, and they're not being put to use in the way that I want. I can't tell you how excited I am about living here."

" _You are_?" said the Sheriff.

"Oh yes, there seemed to be problems at first, but it's really a beautiful place if only we can fix it up a bit- plus we can finally live together!" She pressed her hand to her heart eagerly.

The Sheriff was generally bewildered. This was no doubt a leper's trick, but he was generally good at seeing through those. Marian seemed oddly sincere. He knew women were fickle, and she likely enjoyed living in a big castle and having expensive things all around her. The father thing had always struck him as a bit off. Who was _that_ devoted to anybody?

He studied her, and she smiled brightly back at him. He knew she was clever, crafty even, and with her looks- she could be of great use to him. He needed to reward this enthusiasm, and yet he couldn't let her think he was easily deceived.

He stood up and stroked his beard. He wandered to his skulls, which always calmed him.

"Are those yours?" she said eagerly. "Did you know them?"

"Some were great friends of mine. Regrettably-" he pouted. "They disappointed me."

"Yes, old friends can be very-disappointing," she said, rising from her chair.

"I am pleased to see this enthusiasm. And I will see you are fitted with chambers befitting your use to me, Mari-"he started.

"With gold curtains?' She interrupted eagerly.

He tutted. "Now let's not get too hasty. You serve me well, and you will be rewarded."

She threw her arms around him and his eyes bulged in shock. "We are going to be so rich! This is the happiest day of my life!" Marigold cried.

"Very well," he said, pushing her away with the tips of his fingers. "Save the leper tricks for Gisborne."

"Gisborne?" she asked. She didn't know what 'leper tricks' were. No doubt some Nottingham slang. But she would need to confer with this man. "Where can I find him?"

He shrugged and waved his hand. "Just follow the scent of leather and brooding. You'll find it. He'll see that you're fitted with better chambers. But no gold yet!"

Marigold sighed as she slipped to the door. "It never felt right with-" she put her hands in quotations marks -"'The crusty one.' But now I finally feel like I belong somewhere, Papa. Can I call you Papa?"

The Sheriff's put his finger up, opened his mouth and then closed it. "That's a bit-" he started.

She laughed. "I'll take that as a yes."


	2. Chapter 2

**In Which Marigold Attempts Community Service and a Legend Gets a New Name**

Marigold strut through the hall with satisfaction, barely noticing the sound of gold jingling in her posterior region. The Sheriff of Nottingham's daughter! Did that make her _Lady Marigold_ now? If she weren't innately evil, this would be a great moment to sing about finding her place in the world. But either way, she was very proud of her new father, and his quick way of doing business. They barely had to touch on things like backstory, and the 'where have you been all my life' that only would have complicated things for everyone.

To make the moment complete, she slipped over to the bannister to find the guard who had irritated her earlier and give him a hearty shove over the stone railing.

Several guards looked up at her in utter awe, and whispered among themselves.

Marigold waved with the tips of her fingers and smiled sweetly. "Sheriff's orders" she called.

But then she was sorry, sorry she hadn't asked the guard about Gisborne before the shove, and she was eager to see her chambers, not least because the gold pieces against her rump were beginning to chafe. Shrugging, she slipped through the castle. Maybe there would be somebody to peek in on. So she had a fun hour prying into other people's business, and had definitely improved her spying skills.

Speaking of spying, she thought she saw a familiar face peeping through the windows while she passed a small chamber. She looked closely. It was the robber from earlier, the one who seemed to have a major problem with making out with any kind of intensity.

"Marian!" He hissed.

She paused, and put her hands on her hips. People were always getting her name wrong. "You know I don't have time for your sort."

"What! Is it-Gisborne?" he, said, rather breathless. She could see his fingers struggle to get purchase on the window ledge. His spying was as lackluster as his kissing.

"Something like that." Christ's wishbones, word traveled fast. "How did you know?" She smiled proudly "We'll be going to my chambers today."

"Whaa-" One of his hands slipped off, and his face momentarily disappeared before bobbing up again with strenuous effort.

"Please! Help me!" he cried.

She walked up to him and peered down below. Yup, would certainly kill him.

"You've really got to get better at this spying thing."

He looked wounded, even as sweat dripped down his brow. "I'm the…best…there…is…"

"And by all that is holy, you've got learn to kiss properly!"

He clenched his teeth. "But Gisborne!"

"Gisborne can wait a bit. He's waited long enough, though truth be told, I _really_ need him." The outlaw squeaked. "I think he'll do a good job- right? I mean, my father trusts him." Why was she telling this thief about her dad? That was the problem with crushing the masses beneath your feet; there was no one you could really talk to. And they _had_ made out that morning.

"Your father?" wailed the outlaw, kicking out below him. " _Your_ father?"

She was offended. Did she not seem worthy to be the Sheriff's daughter? "Don't act so surprised. These things happen all the time. And my father is a smart man and knows about the world. He seemed confident Gisborne would satisfy me. I'm sure we'll have to move a lot of furniture around and all that, and it might get pretty messy. But you can trust in one thing- your Sheriff will punish him if I'm not happy with the outcome."

"My sheriff?" said the thief in outrage, though tears were streaming down his face.

"Oh yeah you're a 'robber' and all that. Sorry. I mean, I'll have to crush you soon, but you're kind of sweet. And pretty easy to talk to." Marigold sighed contentedly, and sat on the window ledge next to Robin's trembling fingers. "But the main thing is that I've found someone I can really connect with, someone I've waited my whole life for. It means a lot, you know?"

"Marian!" he whimpered, his face beet red, the tears dripping into the abyss of death below. She was _not_ going to bother to correct him. "What about me?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, get over it, Princess. You suck at kissing. And for the record, you are the worst spy ever."

She grabbed his arm and helped haul him over the edge. It was perhaps the first time she had helped someone without personal gain in mind. Well, almost. There was a lot of potential for sex appeal under the layer of grime and rotten leaves and lice and wait, was that a _spider web_ in his hair? Well, anyway, the grime itself could do, it if he were topless and maybe holding an hammer or ax or something, Perhaps she could get a group of sexy grimy outlaws, say twelve or so, one for each month of the year. Maybe one of those monks could make an illuminated-manuscript style calendar of the whole thing. She had to write this down….

"Explain yourself!" said the outlaw, glaring at her, both passion and fury battling in his gaze. It was a pretty hot look. It would work for her future business venture, but he seemed, well, _unhappy_ with her.

"Explain what? You can't kiss _or_ spy, that's that." She peered at door, and saw the key was still in it. It wouldn't do on her first day to have this angry hobo following her around.

His eyebrows furrowed together. "I don't know about spying but…" He gulped and took her in his arms, which felt amazing, but then he kissed her. Yes, it was clear he was trying, _really, really_ trying, but he was pushing his tongue down her throat and almost sucking her face.

"Ahem…well, keep practicing, you scruffy….ruffian. Scruffian?" She laughed. "Ha! That's perfect. That's what I'll call you."

Scruffian's jaw dropped.

"Anyway, start slow, and work your way up. Or _down_." She winked. "That's usually pretty successful."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she put a finger to it.

"Well, I have to run! I have a date!" she called, and slipped out the door, locking him in. She hurried away, the jingling of her butt drowning out the sobs of anguished heartbreak behind her.

* * *

 **In Which the Original Finds Her True Calling**

Don't think we've forgotten the original, or rather first Marian. She isn't with Robin, and she isn't with Guy, and she's happy about it (to her, at this moment, they're the Eternally Unwashed One and the Hell's Angels Reject). She never gets any alone time, or any time with a decent girl, hell she doesn't even have a mum. Nottinghamshire is kind of a sausage fest, to be honest.

I know mumlessness is natural and all, with childbed death in the era, but hers didn't even have the decency to die giving birth. She just dropped dead, almost as though it would be too difficult to write lines for two Knighton parents. She was devoted to her father and all that (though she was leaving him in a prison cell to go on a journey of self-discovery) but Marian couldn't figure out for the life of her _why_ she had had to go through puberty unassisted. She wasn't a goddamn Disney Princess.

She shifted the reins toward the convent walls. Yes, almost at the exact hour Marigold left her convent, Marian _entered_ one. No, she wasn't planning on taking orders, and this wasn't a silent convent either, but a quite noisy and pleasant one. The fact is, Marian, as a woman, had missed out on her University years, and she really felt the lack. Yes, if she had been a man she certainly would have gone. They would call her lily-livered and all that for not joining the Crusades, but if her father would let her daughter punch dudes in the face, surely he would let his son go study at Uni.

First of, she had a great interest in Medievalism, though she was not aware she lived in the Middle Ages. She would just write down day to day what the people around her were doing, like holding gambling events or giving speeches on cultural and religious relativity or in the case of a girl jilting you at the alter, burning her house down.

Yes, Guy was sexy, _really_ sexy, but she was still pretty peeved about that.

Plus she knew the convent was a place of learning where she could improve her writing style, which would really help her in her in improving her Abelard/Heloise parchments. You probably already know this, but they were star-crossed lovers. Heloise's uncle forced them to part, and they lived on as a monk and a nun, writing longingly to each other for the rest of their lives.

In short, _so romantic_.

Marian, was firm on many things- the return of King Richard, justice for the poor, but most of all, _she would go down her ship_.

She felt a little guilty having a crush on a legendary figure when she had a perfectly nice, if somewhat filthy and life-endangering boyfriend, but seriously, listen to this:

 _If I am remembered, it will be for this: that I was loved by Heloise_.

Swoon! Why didn't Robin say things like that? She knew her fandom was a bit taboo, especially at a convent, but it was pretty popular one and she knew at least a few of the nuns would be into it.

Also, if she had properly experimented at school, all this sexual tension with Guy and Robin wouldn't be such a big deal. Virginity at 22 was really, really hard. And certainly a convent couldn't solve _that_ problem. But she did hope to explore her sexuality. She wasn't bisexual exactly, not _yet_ , but Djaq had looked pretty damned good in that yellow dress, and she even had the pleasure of zipp-I mean, tying it up in the back. I suppose you could say she was bi-curious.

Plus, Djaq had saved her life. I mean, if you thought about it, it was very symbolic. The traditional healing arts of woman to cure the trauma of phallic impalement. She really, really, hoped this series, or ahem, year, wouldn't bring any similar impalements.

And damn it would be nice to get away from Guy and Robin, and stopped being paired with either of them, and being a plot device in their ego fueled battle to the death. Though it _was_ really flattering. And if she were going to be caught up in an a testosterone fueled battle of wills, it wasn't the _worst_ fate to have to choose between a handsome and idealistic outlaw, and a brooding, leather-clad baddie who just oozed sex. But truth be told, neither of them could live up to the passionate Abelard. She sighed. She just had to bring her expectations down to earth.

She dismounted, and led her horse to the convent, and a young novice met her at the gate. "Hey! You Marian? I'm Emmeline!" said the girl, smiling as she tucked a blonde curl under her white habit. Marian smiled back, and slipped off the bag she had fashioned, a kind of square sack with two straps she could slip her arms through.

"You must be the new girl! Let me help you with that," said Emmeline.

The girl took the bag, and seeing a Heloise/Abelard emblem embroidered at the front, she gasped. "You're into _Heloard_?" She squealed.

Marian, nodded, beaming. Could it be?

"Oh my God, I mean, Sweet Jesus, I mean- um," Emmeline thought for a moment. It was hard to invoke her excitement with taking the Lord's Name in vain, and even harder hiding your underground fan club for a the undying love between a certain disgraced monk and nun a secret from the Abbess. "That's just so great," she said, finally, practically shaking with glee. "You can't tell _anyone_ , but I've been illuminating this new manuscript of them. You've _got_ to see it!"

Both girls jumped a little. Emmeline took Marian by the arm, and dragged her into the convent. The weight of her life- her grimy boyfriend who was always spying on her, the hot but cruel man who was always following her, her ailing, dungeon-bound father, the evil sheriff - they all seemed to slip off her shoulders. She could begin her life anew, born from the ashes in the glory that was _Heloard_.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N_

 _I don't know where this is the series, but Marian has been gone for at least 3 weeks, and her dad is still alive and waiting (very sadly) in the dungeon. I hate to moralize, but don't leave your dad in a dungeon._

 _Writing this section made me realize just how often Guy says "Marian." It had to go, but it was seriously felt like I was censoring him. Warning 'Marian'. Excited 'Marian.' Passionate 'Marian.' Seriously, I think you could limit his lines to just 'Marian!" and it would work._

 _Fun drinking game!: take a shot whenever he should have said 'Marian.'_

 _Medieval oaths!_

 _Guy fans, do not murder me. Please see the previous chapter to watch Robin suffer. 3_

* * *

Suddenly, Marigold was grabbed by the arm, and swept into an empty chamber. Realizing her Katana had lodged itself between the sack of coins and her rump, she went for the Tiger Claw that Sister Grandmaster Mary Horatia had taught her, digging her fingers into her opponent's trachea. She bowed slowly and her enemy slid against the wall and curled up beneath her. He looked very much like a beanbag, bringing to mind the question of whether a more casual gathering space might be better for her chambers than the formal look she generally preferred. There were always _gold_ beanbags. But _not having friends would be kind of an issue…_

She loved her Dad but was very aware she couldn't exactly have him hang out in her room. Maybe he could order some of the younger guards to sit on the beanbag chairs to keep up the façade of popularity.

She was debating the propriety of this, when the slumped over man came to, and quickly, far too quickly, rose to his feet. He wasn't _supposed_ to have recovered yet, and she checked her Tiger Claw to see if she had the formation right. Should she try again? No, Sister Grandmaster Mary Horatia had always insisted that it was better to practice _new_ moves.

"I warned you," he said in a pleasantly growly voice. "Don't toy with me." She rolled her eyes, and rolling them, caught side of a sneering face. Holy Severed Head of St. Catherine, this man was attractive!

He was tall and broad-shouldered with striking blue eyes. He was pale but his expression was dark, very dark, and certainly brooding, which was very much a plus. Marigold possessed some self-knowledge and wasn't sure if she should be attracted or on her guard. But it was very appealing sometimes to have to be on her guard. She wasn't used to formidable opponents, in taekwando or anything else, really.

"Oh dear," she said sweetly, choosing words could have been taken at face value or as sarcasm. "I seem to have injured you."

He lifted his hand to his throat and his brows gathered. "I will not ask you how you learned that." It was _quite_ a growly voice, and she was tempted to tell him she hadn't heard him in order to hear it again. But she shrugged.

"It's a nun thing," she said casually, running her fingers through her hair.

"But you didn't stay at the convent…." he said, his eyes glowing intently. His leather outfit squeaked a little, and he sounded very much like a beanbag. Not that she would hold that against him.

Marigold laughed. "Oh Sweet Sepulcher of Jerusalem, no. _Nothing_ could keep me from coming here."

"I-" his voice broke slightly. His eyes grew wider. "You- _wanted_ to be here?"

"Naturally. Bonding with my dad and all that. He's a very talented man, and judging from his room, he has a great sense of interior design."

The man seemed both disappointed and profoundly confused. "You can't mean the dungeon?"

She smirked, pleased with his quip. "Oh is that what you call it? I mean, men are hopeless when it comes to that personal touch, and I do hope my chambers are somewhat finer, but he seems happy with it, and that's what matters."

His jaw dropped. He paced the floor, his leather gloves entwined behind his back.

"Yes, your chambers. I really can't understand it., but the Sheriff has ordered me to provide you with a finer set of rooms."

Finally, she had found Gisborne! "Oh good, it's you! Just the man I've been looking for!"

" _Really_?" He purred and drew in closer so his face was nearly touching hers. She was enjoying this, perhaps a too much, but it was a little bit overdone and she resisted the urge to laugh.

Then he shook his head, and tilted up his eyes in a menacing gesture he must have practiced at least fifty times. "Don't change the subject. Tell me, _what exactly_ have you said to the Sheriff? _How_ did you convince him to give you finer rooms?"

She pursed her lips and shrugged. "I let him know much I admire and care for him."

He stared at her in utter disbelief, before laughing low. "No more games. Not this time." He then turned to the side, trying to sneer, but looking actually a bit embarrassed. "Actually, I-" he looked at her with wistful desperation.

It was beginning to annoy her, as she didn't know whether to be attracted to him or not. Couldn't he just choose one archetype and stick to it? Some girls liked the desperate Saddo, some like the Baddie, and some maybe liked them all mashed together, but Marigold preferred a little consistency. Though brooding was an act that had a little of both, and everybody seemed to like that.

"Actually I really do need to know _how_ ," he said, shifting awkwardly. "How you convinced the Sheriff. I, uh, need to convince him too."

"You don't like where you live?" She was a little bored with him, but he _was_ handsome and she was going to need to be on his good side if he were going to fix up her room. She frowned, and studied him. He certainly didn't _look_ like an interior designer. But an insider discount on leather upholstery would explain the clothes.

"I did like where I lived. I had aspired to a place like Locksley for years. But now-" His expression grew cloudy again. Was he wearing _makeup_? Not that there was anything wrong with that, but it was just that the right eye was well lined, but the left was botched, and it bothered her more than it had a right to. There was also the question of whether he bought it, or had it made for him. Did he make it _himself_?

"The Sheriff has decided to use my manor as his clubhouse."

"Blessed Jewel-Encrusted Skeleton of St. Severina!" If you haven't figured it out, Marigold was well versed in her relics. Anyway, this sounded exciting. Was she then an honorary member by blood? "What kind of club?"

He looked at her askance, his blue eyes glowing. "It's _super secret_ ," he growled.

"Cross my heart and hope to die?" She beamed, rocking on her heels.

"No!"

She lifted her brows and bit her lips. "Pinky swear?"

"You are trying indeed," he said, nudging the edge of her jaw with his forefinger. It was somewhat well, _interesting_ , but she was also tempted to give him a taste of her Chestnut Fist. _Stay on his good side._ Sacred Unidentifiable Bone Fragment of St Boniface, she couldn't make up her mind!

"But my point is-" he sighed and shook his head. "I've had to stay here, in the castle, and I don't know when there will be an end to it. The Sheriff seems to take great pleasure in his club and-"He grit his teeth. "He made that fool _Barnabus_ secretary of the super secret club! And he's _illiterate_!"

"Do I sense some sour grapes?"

"How many times do I have to tell you, there are-" he paused, his breath deepening as he looked into her eyes. "other sides to me." He clenched his jaw. "My handwriting is _beautiful_. By rights that position belonged to _me_."

"I will say, I'm impressed by your ambition." She said in all sincerity.

"Is that true?" he asked, with a roguish smile. It reminded her somewhat of the outlaw of that morning, but darker and growlier. _Could_ a face be growly? Best not to get _too_ drawn in. She changed the subject.

"But it can't be so bad living here. There are a few," she pursed her lips in disgust, "damp and cobwebby and musty corners, but it is a _castle_. Like, big, impressive, intimidating." Her eyes grew starry. "How bad can it be?"

His features trembled and he gripped her by arm. Again. "Do you realize that I sleep in a room next to the kennel? That my underclothes are covered in fleas?"

What _was_ it with the attractive men of this town and vermin? It _would_ explain the odd behavior and mood swings.

Gisborne's voice choked up. "Do you have any idea how itchy I am? That the barking keeps me up all night? I used to love dogs, and now..." he looked off into the distance like he wanted to murder it. The distance, that is. "There's only one creature that is _truly_ loyal, and that is my goldfish."

"Oh. Well ,they're pretty..." she said, not particularly impressed, but certainly still somewhat interested in Gisborne. On the list of unsexy hobbies, fishkeeping was bad, but not _so_ bad. She could imagine a villainous assassin with a large, spooky aquarium.

"I never thought I would be worthy of-" He shook his head, his black hair covering his brow. "But three months ago, at the Whitsunday fair, I won her in a ring tossing tourney. I took her home with me, and no other man can lay claim to her." He cast her a meaningful glance.

"Thats- sweet," she said. He certainly was gorgeous, but perhaps not the sharpest sword in the armory. Perhaps she could keep him as her-mistress? Mister? _Manstress_? "What do you call her?"

"How can you ask me that?" he said, his voice shaking. "When my every thought is of-" He stared at her a wee bit too intently. "Her name is _Marian_."

"Oh, good choice," she said politely, and his face fell. "Though it doesn't bring to mind a fish. I'm not really into animals with human names. Sister Mary Maud had a cat named Kevin and that just seemed _wrong_ to me. I would have gone with Flippy myself."

"Would you like to see her?" He studied with great intensity, transitioning all too quickly into Saddo Mode. "There may- I hope there may- come a time when the three of are happy- living _together_."

"Yes," she said shortly. It soon would grow dark and she wouldn't get a good look on the view from her room. Hopefully, it would not look out onto a weeping bandit. "We will all live in the same castle, um, _together_ , when you show me to my chamber."

* * *

Gisborne sneered, wishing very much he had some other signature look that sneering. There was smirking, but that was nearly the same. And growling. He had often thought that perhaps he should experiment with a new way of expressing himself, but he was aware that his voice got all stopped up and chokey when he tried, and it was kind of embarrassing. Also, until he got Locksley back the growling wasn't exactly a choice, because there were fleas in his underthings. Though naturally he was overjoyed that Marian had returned to him (she _had_ mentioned her dad, but desperate, clingy hope springs eternal).

But she was _different_ since she returned from the convent. She wore the cardigan, which was familiar, but also a huge bustle and lots of gold jewelry. And she also jingled when she walked, but he put that down to the springing of his heart at her every move. He was a romantic, truly, though he had already tried gifts and now was using the more tried and true method of steady, pressing intimidation.

Ostentation hadn't been her style before, but clearly there was a change in her. She had tried to take out his throat with some suspicious new move, but at another time she had also punched him. It seemed a little weird that he liked her, considering that his relationship with both her and the sheriff was composed of a mix of flirting and physical abuse. There was nothing he could do with the Sheriff, but at least he could scare her. He didn't feel bad about it. It was like dressing up like a spooky ghost- all in good fun.

His confessions were becoming more interesting and less gory by the day. The priest seemed to enjoy them except when he got on his Lady Marian fantasies and then he could actually hear the squirming. Sometimes he even made stuff up just. But the priest had been useful, and given him some excellent advice on toxic friendships. Sometimes you just had to let the toxic people in your life go.

But why on God's flat earth would he do _that_?

He led her to the rooms, usually reserved for visiting dignitaries. It was the first time he had really been jealous of Marian, but he _had_ burned her house down, so complaining would be in pretty bad taste. Best that she forget his arson side. He was always trying to come up with _another side to him_ , and they never seemed to impress her. Like his goldfish named in her honor. Like his beautiful handwriting- could a bad man really cross his Ts so elegantly? She hadn't said a word when he mentioned it, and that really hurt, because it meant she didn't take the notes he slipped under her door five times a day very seriously.

 _Heyyyy Marian what's up?_

 _Srry abt your house_ _:-(_

 _Srry abt your Dad :-(_

 _Srry abt Winchester. I saved u tho, rite? LOL!_

 _Didn't kill ne1 2day! Kiss? xxxx_

 _Dinner 2nite? Can bring leftovers 2 yr dad_

 _Marry me? Circle Y/N_

 _Cre8 new life 2gether? Free friday eve!_

Not that she had ever answered him. He sighed.

He watched Marian study the new room. It had some out-of-date but very fine tapestries, lovely sage green bedding with matching curtains, and a view of the town. The nice part, not the stinking, rotting part strewn with corpses. She was making a strange expression, half smiling and half frowning, and he felt a desperate desire to convince her to like it.

"The fireplace gets pretty hot," he said.

Her mouth curled a little. That wasn't a Marian look at all. Did it mean disdain pity? Pity was good. Guy made a mental note to drop some more hints of his broken life.

"It will do." She said, her lips pressing together. "For now." Her voice was low and ominous, and he found it rather sexy. She walked toward him- was that a strut? She raised an eyebrow. "The question is- how will _you_ improve it?"

 _I could move in_ , he thought. But he was a little afraid of post-convent Marian. It made sense, considering his crippling fear of nuns in general.

He went for the most obvious option and sneered. "I wasn't aware that was my duty."

Marian's expression grew darker. "I have certain ideas of my own, but I wanted your _expert_ opinion."

Well, that was flattering, at least. He put all of his energy into creating an expression even darker, the one he had practiced fifty times that morning. He needed to go big. He thought of his own desire, the only feature that Locksley itself was lacking.

"A La-Z-Boy," he growled. "With cup-holders."

Marian's jaw dropped. "Ridiculous!" she hissed. " I thought you had studied interior design!"

Now it was his job to be stunned. "A knight does not concern himself with the arrangement of beds and tables!"

"A knight, you say?" Her expression softened and she bit her finger. Very un-Marianlike. What were they _up to_ at that convent?

Marian's eyes narrowed. "Knight or no, I will speak to the Sheriff. You may not have any ideas, but by the Sacred Birds of St. Milburga, you will help me rearrange this room!"

All Guy could do was nod. He was terrified, and not in a fun spooky ghost way.


	4. Chapter 4

Allan a Dale tapped his knuckles on the door of Marian's new chamber hesitantly. Guy had scuffed him and he was pretty mad about it, but he knew that it was probably due to Marian and she might not be in the best mood either. But someone had to drag all her bloody stuff across the bloody floor of the bloody castle.

He wondered how she had gotten herself cushy new chambers. He wouldn't mind an upgrade himself considering he slept in a cubby hole between the unnecessarily shallow snake pit and very poorly secured cage with three lions. He didn't remember exactly how it became his duty to take care of all these animals, or why they were here to begin with, except that the Sheriff planned to bring them out at exciting times. He did know that the Sheriff didn't use them enough and there wasn't much in the budget for lion biscuits or snake kibble, so he slept with one eye open.

There was no answer so he slipped in carefully, in the way he was accustomed to as a thief. He got a little carried away and found himself hanging from the rafters before he realized that Marian was unlacing her skirt.

He gulped. Yeah, that was Robin's girl and all, and Guy was on her trail, but she was really the hottest bird in Nottingham. It was probably because she still had all her teeth, which was hard to compete with, but he gulped again. She had really developed quite a –rump- in her trip to the convent. He didn't know that he was an arse guy, but seeing her silhouette- though still under the clothes-with the very prominent buttocks he decided then he was definitely, definitely an arse guy.

And then there was a sound of jingling and the lovely arse promptly disappeared. He was so distraught he only barely registered the jingling as the glorious sound of gold coins. She still had _something_ left back there, but it wasn't quite the same and he felt as forlorn as he had ever felt in his life.

She hadn't undressed yet, and while he thought to himself that he would really _get in trouble_ if he revealed himself, and he really should stay and watch because he _didn't have any choice_ , he hadn't descended to that level of creeper yet and prepared to hop down. Maz was a good sort, and would forgive him.

But then she poured out the contents of a huge sack over her bed and lifted her hands to her cheeks in delight. He could barely make out her expression, but it was very un-Marian like. Yeah, surely she would give it to the poor and all that. His shoulders were beginning to ache, and he really thought he should come down, but Marian licked her lips and counted the coins, one by one, and then counted them again. _Yeah, the poor…_ He knew that look in her eyes and he was pretty sure Nottingham's needy would not being seeing a farthing. And his suspicions were confirmed when she fell into the bed with a small 'Oof' (all that metal couldn't have been comfortable) and began sprinkling the coins over herself, laughing, nearly crying, with delight. It was erotic, especially to someone like him who loved women and gold and sometimes had trouble deciding between them.

Then her face grew fixed. She was staring him directly in the eye.

"You!" she hissed. Her wide blue eyes seemed more demonic than sweet at that moment, and he trembled in spite of himself.

"Hello, Maz," he squeaked.

"Hello, indeed." she said. "Descend, spy!"

"Uh, I can explain," he said, fumbling off the rafters and hopping down, hitting his ankle a little too hard so that he yelped.

"Can you then?" She reached behind her and contorted her features and he momentarily wondered if she were adjusting a bit of hose wedged up in her buttocks, and he bravely fought the urge to laugh. But there was a silvery flash, and a strange sword was at his neck.

"Maz- we can talk about-"

"Maz?" she said, pressing the sword so close throat so she nearly nicked it.

"I mean, M'lady!" This was all a little dramatic, even for Marian with all her Nightwatchman business. Talking was his business, and he knew he had to think fast. It could be very much to advantage to know about Marian's little weakness. Stealing, and not for the poor either! She was a greedy little minx, and he was certain it would twist Robin's drawers to hear of it.

"Ah, you seem to 'ave come into your inheritance right early!"

Her face stiffened. He knew he was pushing it.

"Did old Dad pop off so soon?" He smiled, trying to put some charm into it, but the blade sliced under his ear, and began to trickle blood, and he was really scared of blood, and he kept forcing the smile into a grimace.

"Alright, alright." He said, clutching the wall and using the breathing exercises the Castle Snake Handler had taught him when the crate of vipers arrived. And no, Castle Snake Handler was not a euphemism.

 _Though it would be very nice if someone would fill that position, maybe someone who looked like the very pissed off Marian in front of- oh, bollocks!_ The blood had dripped down his neck to his collarbone.

"That money is for the poor, naturally!" He whined.

With a strange rearrangement of fabric, the weird sword (also not a euphemism) disappeared, and Marian was before him, smiling sweetly as ever.

"How nice, we understand each other. Now why were you watching me?"

"Well, I just come to bring you your things. And then I get carried away with climbing and the like."

"Climbing? Well, at least you're a better spy than _some people_." She tilted her head, and moved closer. "And perhaps you have other skills?"

She may have been coming onto him, and he should have been thanking his lucky stars, but he was truly scared. "Maybe," he said, shrugging.

She backed off, and he wiped the sweat from his brow. But let the blood stay, because he was scared of it. "We'll have to wait and see. Now what's this about my things? Did my father have something sent to me?"

"Your Da?" he asked, suppressing a smile. "Nah, it was Gisborne. Sent me here with your things."

She arched her eyebrow. "Well, go ahead. Bring it in."

Shaking, he ran from the room as quickly as he could. He had never been so frightened and so aroused at the same time. He and the guards carried several trunks into the room. She stood there, arms crossed, but he didn't dare look at her.

"If that will be all, m'lady?" He said. He didn't like playing the servant in front of Maz, but something had changed. He eyed the cleavage artfully displayed at the opening of the cardigan and also prayed she would let him leave. Or not. He didn't know.

"You. Stay." She said. She looked with some eagerness at the trunks, before darting over and flipping them over.

Marian pouted. "That's it?"

Alan shrugged. "That's your stuff."

"I know that. But- what _is_ this?" She lifted a pair of trousers, and then a cap-sleeved darted top. "What century is this from?"

"Ummm…" said Alan, looking at the highly anachronistic clothes she was already wearing.

"Is this some sort of present?" She pouted, looking genuinely confused. "My dad or Gisborne?"

"Eh- it's your very own kit, m'lady. Brought it from your room and everything."

She fumbled through the goods, not in the careful, tidy way he knew of her, but like some slatternly wench, tossing one item aside and frowning at another. She placed a small case in her lap, and tried to open it.

"Maybe jewels inside," she said, irritation rising in her voice. "But it's locked."

"Eh I suppose I could-" but she already had a pin out of her hair and the box sprung open. Her face turned to a sneer, and Alan was struck with her unlikely resemblance to Gisborne.

"Nothing but bloody papers!" She said, turning over the box and letting them spill on the ground.

"Vellum, you mean."

She looked at him with utter scorn.

He looked down at his feet. "Not being funny, but while paper exists in China, it won't be widely available for another century at least."

She bore her teeth at him, and tried with great effort to rip the not-paper.

"Eh-" He blushed, unsure if he wanted to continue this. He actually knew much more than people gave him credit for, and had a habit of spilling his erudition when he was aroused. He couldn't help it. "You'll find it hard to rip as it's formed of animal skin. Best you cut it if it gets you hot under the collar. With that wonky knife of yours perhaps. "

Allan was very informed about Chinese technology, but sadly the innovations of Japan were lost on him.

Marian nearly screeched in frustration.

"Or perhaps best not," he continued, angry at himself for continuing to be the voice of folksy reason, but unable to stop. "Vellum costs a pretty penny and only rich folk write around here, except for Kate of course, but she's special. Might be deeds to land or secrets or the like."

Marian looked at him, confounded by the said folksy reason. She nodded slowly and perhaps said something suitably villainous like "I see you're not so worthless as you seem," or perhaps not. She opened the letters and her mouth distorted as she read.

"Who is Marian? And who, by the lion-eaten face of , is _Robin Hood_?"


End file.
